The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot
by BulletBlaze
Summary: Stiles just wants a day away from all of them. He's had weeks, but he wants a day. Unfortunately, Derek's not letting that happen.
Stiles was going back to school for the first time since they managed to get rid of the nogitsune. He hadn't really talked to any of of his friends for a few weeks. Not that he blamed them. They were all grieving in their own way and Stiles understood that they probably didn't want to see much of anyone for a little while, much less him… Stiles didn't even want to see himself. Although the demon was gone and he was no longer technically dying, he still wasn't sleeping. Not because of nightmares- though he was under no delusion that he had somehow been blessed by their absence. He was avoiding them. It was just that every damn time he closed his eyes, all he could see was darkness. Complete and total darkness. It was so absurd, how something he used to be so used to- something he never even thought about- was now the cause of his insomnia. He took it for granted before. He wished he could go back to then.
It seemed that the bruises under Stiles' eyes had only grown darker, more prominent, after they got that thing out of him. He couldn't stomach more than a few bites at each meal, something his dad noticed but never commented on, and it was taking its toll on his already thin body. Stiles looked more possessed now than he did when he actually had been. He took one look at himself when he woke up and threw a towel over the mirror.  
When he got to school, he wasn't surprised when he didn't find Lydia and Scott waiting for him at his locker like usual. He wasn't expecting them to. And honestly, Stiles didn't feel like dealing with the impending wave of guilt he would feel when he saw them. Not yet. They had both lost someone so important to them. Scott lost his first love. He held her in his arms as she slowly let the life leak out of her. And Lydia. God, Lydia. Allison was her best friend. She had loved her more than anyone. Not to mention she lost her not-quite boyfriend right after.  
And it was his fault.  
He would avoid himself, too, if only he could.  
Too bad it wouldn't last. Lydia was in his second period class, not to mention lunch. Oh God, _lunch_. How the hell were they supposed to sit and eat together like nothing was wrong? A whole lot of somethings were obviously so fucking wrong- so irreversibly wrong- and they would never be right again. You can't just play that off. But looking around, Stiles realized that they wouldn't have to. There seemed to be a dark blanket covering the school; there was none of the normal chattering or horseplay. Everyone was suffocating. Stiles had honestly forgotten that Allison had had friends outside of the pack. A lot of friends, actually. And even those who didn't really know her knew of her bright smile and lively laugh. A laugh that would never be heard again.  
Stiles just needed to stop thinking. He was starting to feel the beginnings of a headache. He needed to remind himself that he wasn't the only one suffering the losses. With a silent sigh, he walked into his first period class.

Class passed quickly, fortunately. Maybe this whole day would be over before he knew it. But then he entered second period and saw Lydia sitting by the window. She looked immaculate, as always, but her eyes were nothing like they were just a few weeks ago. That cunning, brilliant light they used to hold was now almost non-existent. She looked tired, but only to someone who really knew how to read her. As if she sensed his gaze, she turned her head to meet his eyes. The flinch was almost imperceptible- a brief and subtle jerk of her body away from him, but it cut him to his very core.  
Lydia tried for a smile, and it was a brave attempt, really… but it lacked any warmth or forgiveness. Stiles looked down and sat by the door. He was out of there the second the bell rang.  
By the time lunch rolled around, it was clear that none of the teachers were trying very hard to deliver a good lesson. It seemed they had given up on trying to reach a group of unresponsive students. Stiles walked slowly to the cafeteria, putting off seeing his friends for as long as physically possible. Once he got there, he bought a bottle of water, just for something to occupy his hands with, and approached his table. There were two empty seats. Stiles sat down in one and avoided looking at the other.  
No one said much. What was there to say that could possibly be of any importance when some of their friends were dead?  
No one openly glared at him or anything, but he caught the glances. The eyes flickering between the empty seat and himself, and he felt his chest and throat tighten. It was too much.  
Too much after weeks of nothing and he had to get out of there. There were too many people and they probably knew and they probably hated him and he couldn't get his breathing under control. His heart beat started to pick up and he knew he had to leave before it drew any attention to himself. Muttering some bullshit excuse about going to get his make up work before next period, he left for the bathroom with his head down as fast as he could without running or tripping.  
Thanking the heavens when the bathroom was empty, Stiles placed a trash can in front of the door so that if someone were to come in, he would at least be alerted. He entered the last stall and locked the door. Then he slid down the wall and held his head in his hands and cried. Sobbed quietly until the strangled noises couldn't make it out of his throat and he felt like he was choking on his guilt. Why should he get to breathe when Allison couldn't? Why should he get a second chance with his friends when Allison doesn't even get a second chance with life? He just wanted it to end. This crushing, guilt-ridden grief that was threatening to consume him whole. This meaningless existence where all he ever did was screw everything up, in the worst ways possible. Maybe ruining his family was just preparation for ruining his friends and their families. _He_ killed his mom, _he_ ruined his dad's life, _he_ got Scott bit, _he_ got Derek arrested, _he_ killed all of those innocent people, _he_ killed Aiden, killed Allison oh God he _killed Allison_.  
The air just simply wasn't getting past his lips anymore and he wasn't so sure he wanted it to. After all of those deaths, what was another one? He wouldn't disappoint anyone anymore. He wouldn't hurt anyone anymore. He wouldn't kill anyone anymore. Wouldn't even get the chance.  
But his friends… They had already lost so much in such a short amount of time. They would surely blame themselves for Stiles dying. And his dad, he wouldn't be able to cope with the suicide of his only remaining family. His son, who he still loved, even if he couldn't look him in the eye. He could never do that to the people he loved. Ironic, considering what else he had already done to them.  
But he forced himself to relax, to at least try the breathing exercises he had gotten more familiar with in the past few months than he had in years. _In for eight, hold for four, out for ten. In for eight, hold for four, out for ten. In for eight, hold for four, out for ten._ Stiles repeated in this pattern for a few minutes before his desperate gasps and sobs for air and forgiveness tapered off into stray tears and pathetic whimpers. He sat on the dirty floor for a few more moments before pushing himself onto unsteady feet and wiping his face. It was covered in the wetness of tears and snot and his hands were shaking. He unlocked the stall door with a shaky breath and and shuffled over to the sinks. Normally, Stiles would have cringed at the red splotches on his cheeks and around his eyes, but now he was just grateful for some color.  
After cleaning himself up a bit, he just decided to skip the rest of the day. He didn't want to see Scott in this state next period, so he just signed himself out and walked to his jeep. It was only when he got there that he realized he left his backpack in the cafeteria, back with the others… Stiles decided to leave it. Anything was better than having to go back in there and face them again, and he really didn't want to stay at school anymore. There were too many memories of death surrounding that place. He would have to leave his homework and his jeep there, but Stiles couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. At least he had his phone, although it wasn't like he had anyone to text at the moment. Unless… No. No way. There was no chance in _hell_ that he was going to ask Derek _fucking_ Hale, of all people, to give him a ride home. Nope. And he wasn't going to ask his dad, either. There was no point in avoiding his friends if he was just going to suffer through an awkward and tense car ride with his dad. He'd walk. Derek probably hated him, too, anyway.  
The ride to his house usually took about twenty minutes. So walking would probably take him an hour, at least. It was a little chilly outside, but Stiles was used to feeling cold these past few weeks. It would be fine. He would be fine.  
Then he felt the first rain drop.  
 _You've gotta be fucking kidding me_ , Stiles thought. _I swear to God, this place is out to get me_.  
He still wasn't going to text Derek though. Nope. He could tough it. Just an hour. In the freezing rain. God knows he had endured much worse, and seriously, _Thanks for that, God._  
Stiles made it about ten minutes.  
His fingertips were numb and clothes were soaked through and he didn't even really process that he was texting Derek until he had already hit send.  
 **Could you come pick me up if you're not busy?**  
Then it caught up to him and he scrambled to save himself.  
 **I mean obviously you don't have to**  
 **You're probably busy anyway**  
 **You know what never mind, I'll be fine**  
 **A little walking never hurt anyone**  
 **Just ignore everything I've just sent you, k?**  
Stiles cringed at himself and the rapid fire messages he had just sent to Derek as he tried to shield his phone from the rain. He ran a dripping hand over his equally dripping face and pushed his hair off of his forehead. Figuring that he'd just deal with it later, he turned his phone off and put it back into his pocket with a sigh and picked up the pace of his walking a little.  
Ten more agonizing minutes later, Stiles was shivering so hard he thought he'd shake right out of his skin. His teeth were clattering against each other and his lips were quivering as he formed an O with his mouth and blew some hot air into his numb hands, hoping to warm them, to no avail. The sound of rain thumping against the pavement drowned out everything else, so he didn't hear the sound of a car engine or the tires on the street when a black truck pulled up next to him. In the state of tunnel vision he had dazed himself into, he didn't really see it either, much less process who was behind the wheel. Until…  
"Stiles!"  
Said teen jerked so violently he just barely caught himself from falling straight into a puddle. Whirling around to find the douche who scared him, his eyebrows raised in surprise when he found Derek. Who was glaring at him with his eyebrows. And beckoning him over with his arm out the window, despite the rain that was undoubtedly pouring into the front seat. Still, Stiles stood frozen, literally and figuratively, in the same spot.  
"Stiles, if you don't get in here now, I will drag you in myself." The eyebrows were still glowering, but Stiles finally burst into motion, practically leaping to get inside the warmth and safety of the car. Once inside, Derek's glare caught his attention once again. Ignoring it, the cold and drenched teen just slipped the seatbelt across his too bony shoulders and over his slim hips. The seats were already turning darker with the stain of water and Stiles almost felt bad for that, too, before he remembered that Derek was the one that made him get in the car in the first place. Derek was silent still, so Stiles looked out the window to try and occupy himself and he realized that Derek hadn't started driving yet. Looking over at the werewolf proved that he was still staring at Stiles like he was a drowned rat. Which, okay, fair enough, but seriously. Stiles so didn't need this right now. He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, making eye contact with Derek and sort of rocking his head back and forth a little, trying to appear as awkward as possible so that maybe Derek would feel awkward too and look away. Maybe even start driving. It'd worked on people before.  
Never being one to back down, however, Derek just raised one eyebrow and gave Stiles a meaningful look. He wasn't quite sure what exactly it meant, but it definitely meant something. They stared at each other for a moment, both still wearing their ridiculous faces, until Stiles finally broke.  
"Okay, what?"  
"What do you think?" came the reply, as if it was obvious. Well, it wasn't.  
"I don't know! That's why I asked! What's your issue?" Stiles probably could've been a little more tactful to the guy who just saved him from probably getting hypothermic, and seriously, he did not need to think about hypothermia right now. Or ever. Not since that night…  
He forced back a shudder. Anyway, he should probably just be cooperative, but that's not how Stiles and Derek work. It's not how they've ever worked.  
 _But maybe it's different now…_ , Stiles thought. He pushed that thought away for now, along with all the others.  
Derek's eyebrows crept up impossibly further as a look of incredibility came over his features. "What's my issue? You're the one who texted me about walking out in a storm when you're supposed to be at school and then never replying!" He was somehow yelling quietly, like he didn't want to scare Stiles but still wanted to make sure he got his frustration and anger across clearly.  
Oh. Right.  
Stiles quickly took his phone out of his pocket and turned it on. It instantly lit up with message after message.  
 **Why aren't you in school?**  
 **Why are you walking?**  
 **It's pouring outside.**  
 **Stiles.**  
 **Where are you?**  
 **I'm going to rip your throat out.**  
 **Stiles.**  
 **I'm coming to get you. Where are you?**  
Staring down at the worry that came through the messages, dumfounded, Stiles stuttered out a response.  
"Oh, uh…. Yeah, I, uh, I decided to go home. Just wasn't really feeling it, I guess. But, uhm, I told you not to worry about it. Why'd you come? How'd you even know where I was?" Derek finally looked away, but not fast enough to hide the slight reddening of his cheeks, barely noticeable beneath his beard. Stiles' eyes narrowed before widening with… something akin to glee.  
"Dude, you were totally worried about me." Derek turned back and opened his mouth to protest, but Stiles wouldn't let him. "No. Nope, you can't deny it, you so care, don't you? I knew it."  
Derek looked vaguely mortified. And completely embarrassed. "Yeah, well you're the one giving me a reason to worry."  
Stiles felt the hurt bloom in his chest and spread throughout his body. The shame. Of course that's what it was. Why would Derek care about him? He's killed people. Derek's just worried he'll do it again. And as true as it was, it still hurt.  
Clearing the lump out of his throat, his voice was lower than earlier when he said, "Right. Can you just take me home, please?"  
The look of remorse and shame on Derek's face only served to make him feel worse. Derek's right, after all, and he shouldn't have to feel bad about telling it like it is. However, he then said, "That's not what I meant."  
Stiles scoffed pathetically and muttered, "Sure it was. I get it. It's fine. I'm weary of me, too. Could you please take me home now?"  
"No, Stiles, you don't get it, 'cause that's not what I meant. I'm not worried about you, I'm worried for you." He sounded genuine enough, but Stiles just really wanted to go home. He said as much.  
"Stiles-"  
"Please, Derek! Please! Just… Just take me home."  
Stiles looked so dejected. Derek wasn't sure if it was a good idea to leave the boy with his own thoughts at his house, but he didn't want to upset him further. He'd already made an ass out of himself once, he didn't feel the need to do so again. So Derek drove him to his house and stopped in front of it, unlocking the doors so that Stiles could climb out.  
Once outside the car, he turned to face Derek and talked through the closed door, knowing the werewolf could hear him.  
"Thanks, Sourwolf."  
Stiles turned to walk up his driveway to his house, preparing to face his father's worried interrogation, but it looked like he wouldn't have to. The sheriff's car wasn't in the driveway. Stiles then vaguely remembered him saying something about picking up a few extra shifts down at the station to try and sort some stuff out. Stiles knew that by 'stuff' he meant all of the people he murdered when he was sharing his body with that thing. It made him feel horrible. It seemed like everyone else was left picking up all of the pieces from something that was his fault, and he wasn't even trying to pick up himself. He was selfish, but he just couldn't. And now his dad was gone and Stiles didn't have his key and it was still raining and everything was still his fault. It would always be his fault.  
His tears went unnoticed to himself as they mixed with the raindrops rolling down his face and dripping from his nose and chin. There was nowhere for him to go. Nowhere for him to turn. He's just have to wait it out. Either wait for his dad to get home or ask Scott to bring him his bag.  
 _Guess I'm waiting_ , Stiles thought.  
He walked up to his porch and tried twisting the doorknob, knowing it wouldn't turn, and then plopping down on the porch step to wait.  
And Derek's car was still sitting in front of his house.  
Stiles fished his phone out of his pocket again and sent him a message.  
 **You can leave, you know.**  
The response was almost immediate.  
 **You're locked out.**  
At that, Stiles let out a dramatic sigh and typed back,  
 **Really. Hadn't noticed that. You can still leave.**  
He thought he saw Derek frown inside his car. His phone dinged again.  
 **You're in the rain again. Just get back in the car.**  
Realistically, Stiles knew this was going nowhere. He knew he'd end up back in the car whether he liked it or not. So he gave up. Seems like he'd gotten pretty good at that lately. Pushing himself up onto his feet again, Stiles wiped the water off of his phone and stuffed it down into his pocket. Again. He made sure Derek was looking when he rolled his eyes as dramatically as possible, but alas, it was still not quite up to Derek's standards. The short walk back to the car was full of anxiety that Stiles tried to put a lid on immediately. He definitely didn't need more of Derek's worried stares, he got those enough from everyone else, when they weren't avoiding looking at him. He just wasn't quite certain what was going to happen now, and Stiles hated uncertainty. Deciding not to dwell on it, he soon found himself right back next to Derek, and although he still wished he could just be in the comfort of his own home, he was actually sort of glad not to be alone. The warmth and dryness of the car didn't hurt, either.  
Without saying anything, Derek just shifted into drive and started down the street. Stiles stared out the window, looking but not really seeing.  
He must have zoned out, because if he had been paying attention, surely he would have noticed they were heading in the direction of Derek's loft. As it was, he hadn't, and now they were parked in front of it and Stiles still hadn't said anything and Derek was giving him that worried look again. Ignoring him, Stiles got out of the car and walked up to the entrance, barely hearing Derek close his own door over the rain. Together they escaped the onslaught of water, getting inside the building. It wasn't as warm as the car, but it was still much better than outside.  
They got inside the loft and Stiles excused himself to use the restroom. He locked the door and looked at his reflection. His hair, jacket, and, well, everything was dripping with rainwater. The darkness of his hair glued to his forehead was a stark difference against his skin, making him appear even paler than usual. Which was something Stiles didn't think was possible, but apparently was. He looked away.  
After doing his business, Stiles washed his hands in the blessedly warm water and, stealing himself, went back out and came face to face with a now freshly-clothed and dry Derek. He held up a small bundle of clothes and Stiles took them. After muttering a thanks, he hurried to turn around and walk back into the bathroom, almost running into the doorframe. Stiles peeled the sopping garments off of his gaunt frame, after removing his phone from the pocket, and dried himself with a towel that was in the pile Derek had provided for him. The borrowed henley and sweatpants, though probably small on Derek, absolutely swamped Stiles, obviously made for someone with more, uh, bulk than him. Or maybe someone who was actually the size appropriate for someone his height, which Stiles was willing to admit he was not.  
There was a basket in the corner of the bathroom that he assumed was for laundry. He tossed the wet rags in, not really caring all that much if he forgot them. Stiles then took the towel and tried to dry his hair as best as he could, until it was sticking up in all directions, but no longer dripping. He then proceeded to throw the towel in over his clothes and went back out into the main area of the loft. Derek wasn't anywhere that Stiles could see, so he took a seat on the couch to wait for him. It was just a few minutes later when the older man walked down the spiral staircase, two steaming mugs in hand. He handed one to Stiles, who nodded his thanks and took a sip. It was hot chocolate with cinnamon. For some reason, this surprised Stiles. He never pictured Derek as someone with a sweet tooth. He seemed so much more like the black coffee type.  
Derek caught his questioning gaze and raised an eyebrow. Stiles just shook his head and went back to sipping the hot beverage. He had never really noticed before, but he and Derek communicated a lot without actually talking. They had for a long time now, and it relieved Stiles that it hadn't changed in light of recent events, maybe more than he was willing to admit.  
Derek left him with his own thoughts, probably lost with his own, for a while until they had both finished their drinks. Feeling had come back into all of Stiles' previously numb body parts, leaving them feeling slightly tingly and still a little cold, especially his toes, which weren't covered. He rubbed his feet together and tucked his fingers under his armpits. Derek cleared his throat.  
"So are you gonna tell me why you're really not in school?"  
Dammit.  
"I told you," Stiles responded petulantly. "I just wasn't feeling it." He hoped it would be enough. Evidently not.  
"You're doing that thing you always do. Telling the truth, but not really. You're not lying, but you're definitely leaving something out." Derek wasn't letting up. "Something happened, didn't it?"  
Stiles let out a long-suffering sigh and shifted into a more comfortable position.  
"Nothing happened, okay? I'm fine." He didn't even need to be able to feel his own heartbeat to know that it jumped. Double dammit.  
Derek obviously heard it, too. His eyes narrowed as he ground out, "Stiles. What. Happened."  
"Oh my God, it's not a big deal, okay? Seriously, don't get your tail in a twist, I'm used to them, alright? It doesn't matter, who cares?" Stiles was starting to get irritated.  
"Them?" Derek had apparently reverted back to monosyllabic responses. Great.  
"What?" Two could play at that game.  
Now it was Derek's turn to let out a huff. "You said, 'I'm used to them.' What are 'them'?"  
"Why do you even care? It's not like you can do anything about it, so what's the point? I don't understand why you care about my wellbeing all of a sudden. I'm not about to go blow up the school, you can relax." Stiles did understand, really, he did, but he wasn't possessed anymore. He just wanted people to stop walking on eggshells around him. He wanted things to be normal again. He knew better, though.  
Derek's expression turned from one of frustration to anger. "God, Stiles, can't you just answer the question? I know you're not going to hurt anyone else! It's gone, okay, I know that! You know that, fuck, we all know that! But just because it's gone doesn't mean you're going to be fine again! You may not hurt anyone else, but you're hurting yourself. Everyone can see it. We thought we'd just give you time to work through some of it on your own. To come to terms with what happened before we tried to force company on you. You were alone for weeks! You didn't even leave your house! And I understand! Trust me, Stiles, I understand. I didn't do anything for months after the fire. I was drowning in guilt over what I had done. It took me years to finally accept that it wasn't my fault. Kate… Kate would've done it either way. And it was the pack that forced me to believe that. It was you. So just…. just let us help you. Let me help you. Because it wasn't your fault. No matter what you've convinced yourself of. There's nothing you could've done. It could've been any of us. Stiles… Allison's dead. And you. Didn't. Kill her. Understand? The oni killer her. It wasn't your fault." Derek was on his feet at this point, and slightly out of breath.  
If Stiles was acting like his normal self, he might've made some sort of comment about how that was by far the most he'd ever heard Derek say at once. Instead, he was busy trying to hold back tears and get air into his lungs, for the second time that day. Everything Derek said was overwhelming him. He didn't know how to deal with this onslaught of information that had never even occurred to him. Couldn't process it.  
Stiles tried to talk through his rapid breathing. "Don't you get it, Derek?! I- I was too weak I couldn't get rid of it if I had just gotten rid of it they would be alive- they'd all be alive but I couldn't! I just- I couldn't and they died for it and no one can look at me and they all hate me! They hate me and I hate me and I thought they were all avoiding me because I killed her and it was my fault and I got to live and she didn't and it should've been me, it should've been me!" Stiles was a yelling mess by now, with his head in his hands and his body rocking back and forth. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I didn't mean to I'm sorry. I'm so- I'm- I…" He couldn't breathe oh God _he couldn't breathe_ and he didn't know how to fix this. _Any_ of it. He couldn't fix anything around him, how was he supposed to fix himself?  
But then Derek's arms were around him, and he was whispering something in Stiles' ear that he couldn't make out, and he was running one hand up and down Stiles' back while the other ran through his hair. And maybe he didn't have to fix himself. At least not by himself.  
Stiles let out a strangled scream, full of grief and anger and fear and everything he's kept bottled up for so long.  
And finally, _finally_ , Stiles could breathe.  
With this ability came the sobs, and not the quiet ones from earlier today. No, these were loud and ugly and heart-wrenching and soul-crushing. Derek just held him tighter and buried his face in Stiles' neck, letting loose a few stray tears of his own. The weeping boy tangled his hands in Derek's shirt and held on without planning on ever letting go.  
It seemed like forever when Stiles' cries finally faded away to sniffles and shaky breaths. He lay in Derek's arms for a few more moments, reveling in the warmth and comfort the older man was providing. And Stiles realized how touch starved he was. He hadn't touched anyone in weeks and now he felt like if he stopped touching Derek, he was going to be dragged away. And Stiles couldn't take that, not when Derek was the only thing keeping him from breaking down beyond repair.  
Derek seemed to understand that and only dragged him closer, pulling him until Stiles was straddling Derek's legs and their torsos were pressed together tightly. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, who wrapped his around Stiles' waist in turn. He squeezed their bodies even tighter together, harder, almost painfully so, but it was real. So real, and Stiles felt safer than he had in years. So he rested his face into the crook of the man's neck, breathing in his familiar scent. He's man enough to admit that the little nuzzle he gave was completely intentional, and Derek shuddered slightly when Stiles' lips accidently brushed against his throat. Stiles resolved to just store that information away for a later time when his head was on straight. They sat like that for a long while.

Later, Derek would talk everything out with Stiles, who would cry some more. But Derek would just hold him and reassure him that no, nobody hates him, it wasn't his fault, they all still love him, Derek still loves him.  
And Stiles? Stiles would believe him.


End file.
